


Lindë Nerdanelo

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the departure of her husband and sons from Valinor, Nerdanel reflects on her past with sorrow and bitterness of heart. Five sonnets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lindë Nerdanelo

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Lindë Nerdanelo

“...When it became clear that Fëanor and his sons would leave Valinor for ever, she came to him before the host started on its northward march, and begged that Fëanor should leave her the two youngest, the twins, or one at least of them. He replied: ‘Were you a true wife, as you had been till cozened by Aulë, you would keep all of them, for you would come with us. If you desert me, you desert also all of our children. For they are determined to go with their father.’ Then Nerdanel was angry and she answered: ‘You will not keep all of them. One at least will never set foot on Middle-earth.’ ‘Take your evil omens to the Valar who will delight in them,’ said Fëanor. ‘I defy them.’ So they parted.”  
-The Shibboleth of Fëanor, The Peoples of Middle-earth [p.354]

I.

I never knew the sharpness of the sword  
until he pierced me deep within my soul,  
already which they’d rent, my sons and lord;  
and tore apart the frame that once was whole.

Had I not loved them long and well? I deem  
the fire within our house doth quickly spread:  
they’ve fled their youth as if it were a dream  
to pace above the sky dome overhead.

The mountains overhang my head with dread.  
I knew not then that all my love was spurned,  
and pierced within my soul’s core, yet not dead:  
that naught could take away, though all returned  
in deeper hate and pierced me as before:  
how could I but do less than love them more?

 

II.

The past is nothing to him now; is naught  
The years we spent together, trav’lling, free.  
Always the other’s company we sought.  
Our love was all we needed then to Be.

Then he asked for my hand. The hours we spent  
in conversation, in woods or on shore!  
His laughter and his insight thus so blent,  
I saw him as none ever had before.

And then our sons came: tallest first, and more  
like me in face and temper than the rest,  
beside the second: on the other Shore  
I feel that he alone may pass the test.

But all of them are lost to me. No more  
will I know their love for me, as before.

 

III.

I knew them when t’were babes, and only I  
might give them comfort, or might pain deny,  
and he – the only one who need not try:  
for I was lost to him; as days went by  
the more and more – the quickness of his hand,  
his gentle smile, the fire that burnt his eyes:  
I saw in him the light of all that land,  
and in his flame all pretense or disguise  
did swiftly melt – alone ‘fore him I stood:  
a mighty spirit met with wisdom’s child;  
I was his equal: that he understood.  
Wherefore became my soul thus so reviled?

It was because I sought one I could match;  
thus I was closer for the flame to catch.

 

IV.

The sword that pierced the wound within my soul,  
– my sons would hear, and surely would turn home! –  
One son I beg! but his blood was the toll.  
But not just one: for eight ‘neath doom now roam.

Now surely the death-knell will o’er me roll.  
What else do I have left, now they have fled?  
What pity can soothe my tormented soul?  
I am as in the chambers of the dead.

And there I would house with them, if I might;  
yet I cannot: forever they are gone,  
and now within this gloom, this gathering Night  
can I perceive no remnant of their Song.

And now my life is broken with their sword;  
I have no fire to match my fervent lord.

 

V.

Alone in Darkness I abide, for all  
That I once loved now far from me hath fled.  
And o’er my head there rests a ghastly pall,  
The blood the rent within my heart hath shed.

He heeded not my warnings of the lies,  
nor heard my softening words to still his ire;  
he cast aside my words, and would despise  
even that face which shone on him with fire  
and admiration for a noble soul  
which now brings pain and death unto my heart,  
which bonds of love hath slashed aside, and roll  
the waves of Sundering o’er me as we part.

He would not heed my cries, my pleas not hear.  
Pride is his master now: the End draws near.


End file.
